


Far Beyond the Glaring Streetlights

by DinosaurTheology



Series: Johnny and Dora [15]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Drama & Romance, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 22:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12330525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinosaurTheology/pseuds/DinosaurTheology
Summary: Amy and Jake are glad to be back together. A super-magnet couldn't pull them apart again.





	Far Beyond the Glaring Streetlights

**Author's Note:**

> I've just gone on a rip with these two at the beginning of this new season. I hope everyone is enjoying!

She lays her hand against his chest and snuggles close to him, in bed. It's been almost a week since he returned and they haven't left the comfort of these sheets and covers (probably, she muses, why they call it a comforter) to do anything other than use the toilet, shower (together, always together) or eat the occasional light meal—she makes him an omelet French style, lightly buttered with no other garnish, and he makes her scrambled eggs since that's usually all he can handle as a man that has, on at least one occasion she witnessed, burned a pot of boiling water.

It's not just a weird, ravenous sex-type thing (the title of our sex tape AND possibly a really awesome Stone Temple Pilots tribute band). There's been plenty of that, sure. Her thighs will be sore for days and she's pretty sure she's seen him icing down Lil' Jake and the Boys a couple of times. Both have laid in blissed afterglow, eyes aglaze and glowing, unable to do much more than purr in pure, contented satiation. But it's not just that; it's not.

The truth of it, the real truth, is that having him here with her after so long away, having him be real again instead of theoretical for all but an hour every three weeks, has seemed a paradise beyond her easy comprehension. She isn't sure what heaven will be like, what form will be taken by the many mansions promised, but she cannot imagine it being much different than this. Or, in the case that it is, she cannot imagine herself rightfully calling it heaven. 

There could be worse things, many hells she could imagine (and, as a person who suffers more than a little from generalized anxiety disorder, probably has on a long, sweaty summer night) but heaven, without Jake? It's just not in the cards. Sorry, she hears herself telling Saint Peter, either he comes or I stay. We'll either enter into those pearly gates together or stay outside together and make a heaven out of whatever comes, even if we just flutter around in a haunted house as little ghosts scaring kids on Halloween.

“Hey,” he says, voice sleep muzzed, “whatcha thinking about?”

“Nothing,” she murmurs. “I dunno... I'm glad you're here.”  
“Me too. I mean... you're a much better cuddler than Caleb the Cannibal. I always wondered if he was gonna take a chomp out of me.”

Her brows draw together. “Really?”

“Nah,” he says. 

“'Nah' to the cuddling or 'nah' to thinking he was gonna take a bite out of your hide?”

“The whole biting thing. Both, really. I mean, we did some bro hugging and stuff on occasion but, y'know... cannibal.”

“Oh,” she says. “So nothing like that happened, at all?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...” She stumbles over the words, can't find them, finds them and cannot force them to tumble from her lips. “I mean... y'know.”

“Hot gay prison sex?”

“Er... yeah. I guess. Cause I'd totally understand if it did happen,” she says. “I read a book.”

“I really can't think of a conversation with you that doesn't get instantly weirder when you say those words, babe,” he says. “But no. No hot gay prison sex with Caleb the Cannibal. You're the only one for me.” 

“What about the Amy you built out of mashed potatoes on the wall of your cell in solitary confinement?”

“I mean, that wasn't technically infidelity, right? She was an Amy, even if she was made out of potatoes. I called her 'Potamy.'”

“That is somewhere between super cute and super disturbing.”

“That's pretty much my wheelhouse, yes.”

“And nothing else happened, right?” she says. “Nothing like... like...” 

“Like what?”

She grows quiet for a long moment and says. “I... uh... I read another book.”

“Oh. No. It wasn't like that at all.”

“Really? Cause if it did, and if you needed to talk about it--” She was fretting, talking fast like she always did when something had been eating her up inside, gnawing on her guts. She had nothing even resembling a poker face.

“No, Ames. Nothing like that. I promise. Prison is, like, way less rapey than you'd imagine. Some places are, maybe, but I guess it's just the... culture? That's the right word, I guess. It's just the culture of the specific prison.” He draws a deep breath before continuing. “I mean, Romero basically ran the place. Remember I told you about him?”

“Kill crazy guy that looked like the dude from Young Guns gone totally loco?”

“Yeah, him. Well, Romero had a thing about that. Anybody caught acting in what he called an 'ungentlemanly' way...” Jake mimed cutting his throat. “Except it wouldn't be your throat, and it wouldn't be with his shiv.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he'd just let Tank rip em off. Besides...” He settled deeper into the pillows, drew her closer to him. “Besides, at J-town if you want a boyfriend you can find one without all that, y'know, struggling. Romero and the aforementioned Tank? Totally an item. They may be my OTP.”

She blinked. “I never want to read the fanfiction you write for that one. Ever.”

“Fine. I'll just keep my artistic expression to myself. And when I never win the Nobel Prize for literature? It's your little ass I'm gonna blame. Your hot, tight little ass. Well, not really little... but hot. And tight. And... tight.”

She giggles. “That'll be okay, so long as you keep it to yourself right here.” She frowned. “That didn't make sense... I was trying to be cute and didn't quite make it. I mean--”

“I know what you mean. And I'm not going anywhere. Whatever I do I'm gonna do it right here with you.”

“Thank God. I'm so glad you're back. I'm so glad. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

I love you, I love you. They said it again, with words and without, deep in shadow, far from the glare of street lights.


End file.
